


No Matter How Far Away We Roam

by Erisabesu (ErisabesuFic)



Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Eve, Christmas Party, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-19
Updated: 2019-12-22
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:20:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21862852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ErisabesuFic/pseuds/Erisabesu
Summary: “In some corner of Tsuna’s mind, the part that never quite grew out of his pre-teen inferiority complex and cynical negativity, Tsuna realizes he should have expected that Christmas Eve would begin just like this.”  [2009.02.24]
Relationships: Dino & Sawada Tsunayoshi, Hibari Kyouya/Yamamoto Takeshi, Rokudou Mukuro/Sawada Tsunayoshi, Sawada Tsunayoshi & Varia, Sawada Tsunayoshi & Vongola Tenth Generation Guardians
Comments: 4
Kudos: 48





	1. Chapter 1

**“No Matter How Far Away We Roam”**

◊

**[December 24th // Vongola Headquarters // 5:08am]**

In some corner of Tsuna’s mind, the part that never quite grew out of his pre-teen inferiority complex and cynical negativity, Tsuna realizes he should have expected that Christmas Eve would begin _just like this_.

But the weight of a fully grown leopard coming out of nowhere and landing square across his middle is still a complete shock—Tsuna’s eyes pop open from a dead sleep and he gasps for air, instead getting a hot face-full of Uri’s jungle breath followed by an earful of high-decibel hysterics from the cat’s pet Storm Guardian. Tsuna instinctively squirms and flails his pinned arms to no avail, as Gokudera frantically clambers up onto the antique king-sized four-poster bed (a hand-me-down from the Ninth) to attempt the impossible task of wrestling Uri back down to the floor without destroying the mattress, all the while chastising the animal at full volume and adding a twenty-four year old man’s weight to the pile—oblivious of how this crushes Tsuna even further into the plush coils.

Tsuna cringes from the noise of Gokudera and Uri arguing in matching roars overtop of him and goes limp. Unfortunately, being caught in this kind of tight spot is rather familiar, where turning his head and reading the clock on his nightstand is about as much as Tsuna can manage until finally Uri loses interest (or considers his job well done) and skulks away of his own accord.

Once relieved of Uri’s considerable weight, Tsuna takes a few steadying breaths and tries to sit up, understanding belatedly that the cat must have eaten right before arriving in his bedchamber if the lingering odor of salmon is anything to go by. He wrinkles his nose.

“Tenth!” Gokudera finds him in the dark and claps both hands on his shoulders, shaking him. “Oh good, you’re already awake!”

“Hah?” Tsuna manages, rubbing the sleep-crust from his eye.

“Come with me, quick!” Gokudera scoots to the edge of the bed, tugging Tsuna by the elbow. He pauses to turn on the lamp beside the alarm clock and Tsuna blinks, first from the sudden light and then from the sight of Gokudera’s urgent, and somehow _ecstatic_ face.

“Go with you? Ehhh?” Tsuna desperately tries to get his brain into gear, while Gokudera leads him to his slippers and helps him put them on before dragging him through the rest of his rooms in the Boss’s Suite and out into the hall of the main Vongola mansion.

“Gokudera…” Tsuna struggles to keep up. “Where are we going so early in the morning?”

“Leave everything to me, Tenth!” Gokudera flashes a proud smile over his shoulder, fairly skipping through the halls to the stairway at the back of the building that leads down to the kitchens and laundry facilities.

If not for Gokudera’s hand on his pajama sleeve, Tsuna would have lost him; as it is, the whole situation is a bit surreal, the dark corridors of the mansion lit only with multi-colored icicle lights hung in loops over greenery garlands like some Technicolor dreamland.

( _The second winter after Reborn’s arrival, Tsuna locked all the doors, and then locked all the windows, double-checking over and over and still Gokudera somehow got into his bedroom on Christmas day, bringing a large and bulky package with him. The wrapping paper had green, glow-in-the-dark skull heads on a red psychedelic background and Tsuna tried his best to make his cheeks smile but it just wasn’t happening because he knew something horrible had to be inside—the skulls were already snickering at him. With shaking hands Tsuna unwrapped the gift and found some hellish looking contraption that Gokudera said was a rare and special sensor that measured alien energy waves and UFO’s in the vicinity. Tsuna promptly dropped the machine out of fright but Gokudera lunged and caught it just in time, and then switched it all the way on, stalking this way and that in search of extraterrestrial activity. It didn’t help any that the lights on the gizmo’s base began flashing right off the bat and Gokudera’s eyes filled with matching sparkle-blinks of interest. He chose that particular moment to add that the thing could also measure ghost activity and spirit presences–wasn’t the Tenth lucky he found such a treasure? According to Gokudera the readings seemed to be the strongest coming from inside Tsuna’s closet where he kept his manga collection and the fishing gear forced on him by his father before he died. Naturally Tsuna never quite recovered from these coincidental circumstances. Reborn found the whole episode terribly amusing, but Tsuna could never open his closet at night again after that and developed a weird complex about going fishing with his father and winding up dead, all the way up until he moved out of that house for University. All that aside, Tsuna suffered three more years of Gokudera’s ghastly—or awkward; sometimes both—presents before he thought to instill a new and gift-free tradition that suited him better, one where his whole group of friends gathered on Christmas day for fun and games instead of only when it was an emergency…_ )

Down the steps they go, around three more corners and then into the oversized kitchen with its checkerboard-floor. Gokudera takes him to one of the midnight-snack tables in the back by a row of aluminum refrigerators and pulls out a seat, beaming.

“Here you go Tenth! I made it myself, so dig in!”

Tsuna sits down before a set of covered dishes, looking to the mug of black coffee and wondering why on earth he’d want to have breakfast so early in the day. He’s also not sure his appetite is up for the task, but for Gokudera’s sake he thinks he’d better try.

“Um, thanks Gokudera, but…” He rubs a hand through his hair. “You didn’t really have to do this, I mean, the sun’s not even up yet—”

“But that’s exactly why, Tenth,” Gokudera insists, sitting in the chair opposite him, expression earnest. “Once the sun is up, it would be too late! Or did you forget everyone here in Italy fasts until sunset on Christmas Eve? Even as the Boss you wouldn’t be allowed in the kitchen for the rest of the day, and nobody can eat until tonight’s annual banquet—it’s Vongola policy.”

“Ah, that…” Tsuna scratches the back of his neck, vaguely remembering something like that happening the last year … and feeling like he must have repressed the memory on purpose.

“I’ve been so worried recently about hosting tonight’s big dinner party instead of the Ninth, I guess I did forget.”

Gokudera’s face hardens in determination. “Then I was right to get up early and make sure you could have a breakfast meal—letting you starve all day would be unforgivable for the right hand man. Alright then, Tenth, eat up!”

Gokudera lifts the largest plate cover proudly. “I whipped up some Omu-rice with poached salmon, miso soup and toast on the side!”

Tsuna blinks at the empty plate, what once may have been Omu-rice reduced to a few tiny, unrecognizable globs crumbled on one side.

“ _Ahhhhh!_ ” Gokudera exclaims in horror. “What happened to the Tenth’s breakfast?!”

Tsuna lifts the soup cover and finds the bowl still full of steaming liquid. “The soup’s still—”

But Gokudera isn’t listening, strapping on his belts with the Sistema C.A.I. and loading his arm-cannon like he’s prepared to take down the whole mansion. “Come out you assholes!” he shouts, pivoting in all directions. “I will destroy whoever dared lay a finger on the Tenth’s food!”

Tsuna gets up fast, waving his arms over his head to calm Gokudera down. “You’re overreacting, Gokudera!”

“No I’m not!” Gokudera grinds his teeth, reluctantly extinguishing the flames from his ring. “That food was for the Tenth and only the Tenth! I will not stand by and permit anyone else—”

“—Let’s just make some more food, okay?” Tsuna hastily pulls Gokudera over to the preparation counter and gets out an apron. “And this time we’ll eat together. How’s that?”

Gokudera looks pained, and Tsuna worries if he somehow said the wrong thing—but then Gokudera’s eyes fill with tears and his lower lip begins to tremble. Thus Tsuna is totally unprepared for Gokudera to grab him in a bearhug, however platonic it may be. Tsuna gapes, mirroring Gokudera’s earlier horror when he realizes the man is seriously crying.

“Tenth, you’re so generous!” Gokudera sobs into Tsuna’s crown.

Tsuna sighs, patting Gokudera as best he can with his arms trapped at his sides and thinking that Mukuro would definitely object to this, were he to suddenly appear there in the kitchen. The thought of Mukuro’s reaction to another man hugging him is scary enough to lend Tsuna the strength to ease out of Gokudera’s grasp as quickly as possible.

“There-there, Gokudera, it’s not such a big deal. We eat together all the time, right?” Tsuna smiles, putting the apron strap over Gokudera’s head.

Gokudera’s excitement shoots back up to the normal level as he ties the apron sash around his waist.

“Let’s do it!” He grabs a second apron and puts it over Tsuna’s head. “We’ll make the best breakfast of all time!”

“Ahaha,” Tsuna grins, tying on the apron and pushing up his pajama sleeves.

He begins by wondering what on earth to make—and then discovers a suspicious pile of charcoal-encrusted pots and pans hidden behind the movable preparation island when there is a huge _crash_. Gokudera has accidentally upended an entire drawer full of utensils onto the floor, cutlery and spatulas skidding everywhere. Tsuna stands there frozen, instantly bombarded by a thousand memories of Gokudera wreaking havoc in various kitchens over the last ten years. His eyes go huge with disbelief, realizing that Gokudera’s breakfast would likely have killed him for reasons entirely different than those of Gokudera’s infamous sister.

“Everything’s under control!” Gokudera salutes him with a soup ladle, scurrying in all directions to retrieve the things he spilled.

Tsuna is sure of only one thing: allowing Gokudera to cook would be nothing short of a disaster. He quickly heads Gokudera off before he veers too close to the ovens, redirecting him back to their table post haste.

“Hey, um, why don’t you just sit here and guard this area, in case anyone wakes up and tries to take our spot?” Tsuna hunches his shoulders at the lame excuse, but it’s the best he can do so early in the morning.

“Of course!” Gokudera lights up, sitting down in Tsuna’s seat where he can survey the whole kitchen. “Those assholes that ate your food might come back. Keh! Just let ‘em try—you can count on me!”

“Er, right,” Tsuna agrees. “I’ll um, make some tea.”

Gokudera’s grin is wider—and possibly more childish—than ever. “Yay! The Tenth’s tea!”

“Ahaha,” Tsuna rubs his neck. Tsuna finds the teakettle and goes about making breakfast for two, a soft smile on his face.

“It’s like Christmas is here a day early!” Gokudera adds, bouncing his knee in happiness.

This isn’t how Tsuna would have chosen to start his day, perhaps… but it’s nice to know that some things haven’t changed over the last ten years. He and Gokudera may be grown up now, but their friendship is still much the same, and Tsuna wouldn’t change it for the world. Being reminded of Gokudera’s steadfast loyalty and thoughtfulness is one of the best presents he could ever have.

Tsuna manages to make something edible, if not something that would meet his mother’s standards. But that doesn’t matter—the company is what counts, Gokudera’s smiling face accompanied by an animated report of all the things he’s been working on in his lab, both the one here and the one back home in Japan. Tsuna smiles and listens as the sun threatens to rise, thinking he’ll be sure to thank Uri later for stealing his breakfast and making these precious moments possible.

Of course, the moment Tsuna relaxes a troupe of yawning men in black suits stumble like zombies into the kitchen and clamor for coffee. Tsuna jumps out of his seat and begins filling the twenty cup coffee pot with water, searching through all the cabinets for the Ninth’s favorite espresso roast (and not trusting the stuff Gokudera left out from his earlier concoction). Before he realizes what’s going on, he’s making scrambled eggs for the lot of them, rushing to refill the toaster and find the butter and jelly in-between frying up leftover potatoes until someone shrieks from the kitchen doorway.

“Sawada-dono!” Basil rushes straight to Tsuna’s side and snatches a jar of jam right out of Tsuna’s hand. “Please let me do that instead—why would you sully your honorable hands in the kitchens? I could not possibly allow it!”

Tsuna opens his mouth to answer but Basil twirls him around and forcibly removes his apron, and then sits him down at the head of the snack table between Gokudera and an older guy with a mustache. The men lounging around with Gokudera, coffee mugs in hand, give him friendly thumps on the back and push him the plate of toast he made, already buttered and jellied.

“Nice pajamas, Boss!” the mustache guy next to him says.

Tsuna glances down at the airplane pattern on his pajama shirt. “Geh!” he squawks, then elbows the man next to him in rebuke while everyone (including Gokudera) has a good chuckle over his lack of fashion sense. Tsuna tries to hide his embarrassment by grabbing and eating some toast, though in truth this kind of jibing from the men makes him feel accepted. It wasn’t like this when he was eighteen and too skinny for the inches his body finally grew before graduation.

Tsuna glances around the room at the remaining spilled utensils, the half-covered pile of ruined pans, Basil working the stove like a madman, and the crowd of men around him leaning on counters or sitting in chairs, and thinks maybe this isn’t such a bad way to start the day after all.

At least Tsuna feels that way right up until the sun has crested over the distant horizon, summoning the Head Steward to chase out every last interloper in his sight. Tsuna included.

—

**[1:55pm]**

The Christmas Eve banquet preparations begin immediately, and by mid-afternoon Tsuna is frantic and near-exhaustion from the chaos of overseeing so many details—he had no idea it would be like this! The tables and chairs have to be arranged in the main dining hall according to some arcane (and therefore ridiculously complex) inter-Family hierarchy, not to mention loads of neatly-stacked firewood prepared for the salons in the front of the mansion where the guests will socialize both before and after the feast, and one of the side yards transformed into a secondary parking area marked with velvet ropes and elegant lighting strung along every footpath leading up to the estate. And these are the _least_ of the issues needing his attention.

Every time Tsuna turns around there’s another servant desperate for his approval on decorations or something or other, all kinds of issues way beyond anything he can remember either from previous Vongola dinner parties or what he learned at Reborn’s knee during the last ten years. Dino is on the guest list and therefore unavailable to help with any of the nonsense, Gokudera is off somewhere drilling those of the Ninth’s men left behind for security duties, and Yamamoto is out shopping with Bianchi in downtown Milan so that nobody will be poisoned later on that evening, an unfortunate but necessary duty all things considered. Tsuna feels bad pushing such a thing onto Yamamoto, but he’s not sure anyone else could survive. He also can’t help feeling a little lonely.

Tsuna finally gets a break when the Head Chef arrives to begin preparing for the banquet and takes over everything in that section of the house, shooing everyone else out aside from his staff. Remembering the mess from that morning, Tsuna happily retreats upstairs and out of range, collapsing into a plush armchair and yearning for a nap. It’s no wonder his father disappeared to Paris for a romantic getaway with his mother, and the Ninth packed all his Hawaiian-print shirts and escaped to Mafia Land’s beach-front Hotel where he’s no doubt drinking fruity beverages complete with miniature umbrellas this very minute.

Tsuna sighs. Isn’t it a bit unfair, dumping everything on him like this?

He doesn’t get to sit still for more than ten minutes before his stomach begins growling, despite eating breakfast that morning. Then Tsuna sits bolt upright—he’s overlooked something critical:

Where in the world is _Lambo_?

Tsuna gets up immediately, realizing that he hasn’t seen Lambo for several hours, which is more than strange considering all the preparations underway and therefore all the opportunities for mischief that the fifteen-year-old Lambo couldn’t possibly resist. Tsuna heads at once down to the basement game room, finding it unoccupied with the lights off. Then he checks Lambo’s room on the third floor, pulling the covers back and checking under the bed—no response. He checks in the closet for Lambo’s coat, making a face and shaking his head at the garish cow print Lambo so loves.

Tsuna resorts to asking a few members of the staff, discreetly, if they’ve seen Lambo anywhere in the house. Nobody has. So Tsuna rushes to the kitchens, horrified at the thought of Lambo being caught smuggling food when he’s supposed to be fasting like everyone else—he doesn’t even want to think about how the Bovino Family would take such a dishonorable act under his watch. With his imagination fueling every step, Tsuna bursts into the kitchen and then skids to an immediate halt as the entire kitchen staff brandishes cutlery, their auras on fire in the most menacing display Tsuna has seen since the first time he laid eyes on Xanxus.

“Aaaaaah!” Tsuna waves his arms and backs away. “I’m not here to steal food, I promise!”

He doesn’t wait for an answer, simply zips back out the door and around the corner to catch his breath. Then he jogs back the way he came, nerves keyed up and stomach growling even louder. On impulse he decides to check the guest room I-pin uses when she visits, heading back upstairs and feeling a little silly about entering a girl’s room while she’s not there.

“It’s just a room, it’s not like it belongs to her,” he murmurs, trying to convince himself he’s not doing anything naughty, even though the room _is_ hers, kept ready for her so she can come and stay whenever she likes.

He leaves the door open for propriety’s sake, tip-toeing inside and glancing from side to side, feeling like some sort of intruder. He shakes it off, peeking into the adjoined bathroom, and then feeling rather at a loss.

Tsuna cups his hands around his mouth and then stage-whispers: “Lambo? Lambo, are you here?”

For a moment there is silence.

Then Tsuna hears a noise coming from inside the huge armoire and nearly jumps out of his skin.

_“Lambo isn’t here!”_ says a familiar, muffled voice.

Tsuna heads right for the armoire and flings open the doors. Lambo—stuffed into the empty upper part of the armoire with his knees curled into his chest—immediately bursts into tears.

“Lambo isn’t eating any food!” he sobs, clutching a box in his hands.

“What are you eating?!” Tsuna grabs it from him, bonking him on the head for good measure while he looks into the box. He starts in surprise. “Are these—?”

“—Lambo isn’t eating any food!” Lambo repeats, stuffing a half-eaten peppermint candy-cane back into his mouth.

Tsuna gapes at him, Lambo’s mouth covered in pink sugar-crystals and tears streaming down his face. He’s eaten half the box already. Tsuna looks back at the package of candy-canes, then glances to the door, one hand rubbing his empty stomach.

“Hey, um … how about we share?” he whispers, shooting Lambo a hopeful look.

Lambo grins from ear to ear, scrunching his feet to make more room. Tsuna clambers inside opposite him, somehow folding his legs into the empty space as they each try hard not to giggle and give the whole situation away.

( _The chimney was tight and the beard super-glued to his face was itchy and Tsuna vowed he’d never, ever forgive Bianchi or his mother for making him dress like Santa Claus, not even for the sake of runny-nosed, six-year-old Lambo who had his heart set on personally delivering cookies to Santa that year so he could request an AK-47 in addition to nuclear missiles for his rocket launcher and new horns that could squirt battery acid in the face of anyone who dared make him cry, or alternately, any first grade girl he thought was cute. The fact that those women left Tsuna stuck in the chimney for all the neighborhood kids to see was too cruel, and wholly unforgivable—that night marked one of the only times Tsuna was thankful for Reborn shooting him right between the eyes. Tsuna’s Santa-version when amped up on dying will was truly a badass spectacle that nobody would ever, ever forget. Even now Tsuna harbors mixed feelings of pride and shame whenever he remembers tearing up half the roof of his house and delivering fistfuls of whatever he found on hand to everyone in a ten block radius. But Lambo probably forgot all about that a long time ago…_ )

They pull the armoire doors shut and Tsuna begins working a candy-cane out of its plastic wrapper and into his mouth. For a moment, he wonders if eating food made from Mukuro’s illusions would really be cheating; he thinks he might be willing to risk it even if the satisfied feelings were temporary.

“Hee hee, Tsuna’s gonna get in trouble!” Lambo sing-songs, and Tsuna kicks him in the shin, playfully.

“Am not!” he insists as he begins to eat. “This isn’t food, anyhow. It’s candy. It doesn’t count.”

Lambo giggles, and Tsuna laughs too. It feels good to relax and hang out with Lambo like they always did, before he officially became a Boss and began spending more time here in Italy. Now Lambo’s here too, enrolled in the same Mafioso high school Dino and Squalo once attended. Tsuna likes it better this way.

Tsuna manages to eat about half the candy-cane before anyone comes looking for him, enough of a break to restore his waning spirits. He also manages to go about his business for another two hours before someone points out that there are candy-cane bits stuck on his pants and his sweater, a little memento from Lambo. Of course, there’s too much still to be done for Tsuna to hunt him down a second time for retribution.

Tsuna shakes his head and changes his clothes for the third time that day.

—

**[5:48pm]**

Make that four times—the guests will start arriving in ten minutes and Tsuna is _still_ struggling with his bow-tie, unable to get the damn thing right. Whoever decided this event had to be in full formal wear had to have been out to punish him. For _what_ , Tsuna had no idea.

There’s a knock on the main door of his suite and Tsuna calls out, “Come in!”

A moment later Yamamoto appears in the doorway of Tsuna’s dressing room, his tuxedo neat and pristine by comparison.

“Came to check on you, see how you were doing,” Yamamoto says, his affable smile putting Tsuna immediately at ease.

“This thing is impossible!” Tsuna throws his hands up in despair, giving up. “How’d you get yours tied so perfectly, anyway?’

“Haha,” Yamamoto says, coming into the room. “Shall I help you?”

“ _Please_ ,” Tsuna sighs, exchanging a smile with Yamamoto as he rises to the task. “Sorry to bother you like this, Yamamoto.”

“It’s no problem,” Yamamoto grins, his long fingers handling the tie with an expert’s touch. “Only… I hope Mukuro doesn’t get too jealous over someone else helping you with your tie, Tsuna.”

“ _Ehhh_?!” Tsuna flushes al the way to his hairline. “W-w-w-why would he be—?” Tsuna swallows, his heart pounding just thinking of it. “What are you saying, Yamamoto? Jeez…”

Yamamoto laughs, smoothing Tsuna’s finished bow tie into place and patting him on the shoulder. Then he winks. “Better get him to teach you one of these days, okay?”

Tsuna flails, completely sure there is steam coming out of his ears.

Yamamoto, the only one who understands and accepts Tsuna’s (admittedly rather strange) relationship with Rokudo Mukuro, tries valiantly not to laugh but can’t hold it in. “Ahahahaha!” he doubles over, with absolutely no trace of malice on his face. Tsuna endures it, redder than the poinsettias lined up outside along the grand staircase in the foyer.

“Ahem,” Yamamoto recovers quickly, flashing an apologetic smile. “Ready to go greet your guests?”

Tsuna follows Yamamoto back out into the main hall on the second floor. He’s grateful for his friend’s easygoing manner and constant presence, especially on nights like tonight where the crowds will be huge and intimidating; no matter how strong Tsuna may be out on the battlefield he just can’t get used to these sorts of things.

The socializing begins in the front salons, servants offering beverages before dinner as tantalizing smells escape from the large dining hall and waft slowly through the mansion. There are considerably more men than women attending, though as usual Yamamoto is popular with the ladies and the elderly—Tsuna watches him work the room and breathes a sigh of relief, knowing he’d be totally lost if Yamamoto wasn’t at his side.

( _They each went to different Universities, separated for the first time since junior high, and so this was the first thing Tsuna asked of Vongola’s Ninth after accepting the position of Vongola’s Tenth: A Christmas vacation at the Vongola cabin in the Italian Alps, just he and Yamamoto and Gokudera hanging out together the way it used to be. Tsuna worked out all the details, booked their flights, arranged for a delivery of food supplies and slept with the cabin’s keys around his neck so he wouldn’t lose them, but Tsuna forgot a critical thing about his two best friends and what it would mean to be alone with them on a snowy mountain for an entire week. Yamamoto’s innate athleticism, along with his total inability to recognize normal, every-day dangers were amplified a hundred fold the moment he got his hands on skis, snowboards, or snowmobiles. Every sort of daredevil trick that usually peppered Tsuna’s nightmares became Yamamoto’s favorite activities, and worse—Tsuna and Gokudera got dragged into all sorts of stunts right along with him. The snowmobiles were totaled the first day. Yamamoto’s snowboard loop-de-loops jumping over a bottomless ravine only spurred Gokudera to best him at every turn and in every way, and what should have been a relaxing male bonding experience immediately became an all out war of wills and test of skills between Yamamoto and Gokudera that Tsuna couldn’t possibly match. Gokudera held his own more or less, as expected of a native Italian and Namimori’s third strongest. As for Tsuna, he may have grown a bit taller in the last year but his coordination was still as lame as ever, and so this historic vacation could only end with one possible result. Tsuna tried his very best to keep up on the private, Olympic level skiing course built by the Fifth Boss, but his skis got tangled up with a rebel sapling and he fell and rolled halfway down the mountain in the most painful experience of his life thus far. He lost consciousness along the way, his leg fractured in four places and his left shoulder dislocated. Gokudera gave Yamamoto their one and only GPS before heading back to the cabin to phone the Ninth; Yamamoto carried Tsuna piggy-back, skiing over fifty kilometers to the next town before nightfall, and admitting him to the hospital for treatment before either of them suffered frostbite. Yamamoto also had to stay in the hospital for a night due to exhaustion and dehydration, for the same unbridled physicality and sportsman’s stamina that put Tsuna in danger in the first place was also what saved his life…_ )

At full dark the guests move eagerly into the dining hall, summoned by the Head Steward when the feast is ready to serve. Tsuna is seated at the place of honor with Yamamoto at his left; Gokudera, standing at the back of the room with the Head of Security, catches Tsuna’s eye and gives a nod that everything is a-okay so far. Tsuna’s heart goes warm as he looks around the room and sees that all is indeed well.

As soon as the first bottles of wine have been opened, Tsuna stands and offers a simple, yet meaningful toast:

“To Friends – to Family – to the Future.”

—

**[9:27pm]**

The banquet proceeds more or less how Tsuna pictured it, the food presented and consumed flawlessly and the wine unleashing the hidden personality traits of every guest there. After dinner the group retires once again to the salons, fires crackling in the fireplaces and conversations turning more animated and in some cases—to Tsuna’s horror—verging on the inappropriate.

Most everyone takes a seat and indulges in decadent, traditional Italian desserts. Alas, Tsuna is promptly cornered by a bevy of unmarried females aged fifteen to thirty-nine, made all the more bold by champagne or liquored espresso. Tsuna pales, failing in every attempt to extricate himself from the hands twining up his arms like brambles, desperate to keep his eyes averted from the semi-circle of flaunted bosoms closing in. He is saved by the most unexpected thing of all:

“Voooooooooi!”

The sudden (and fashionably late) arrival of the Varia squad increases the intensity of the gathering by about three million percent. This interruption allows Tsuna to rush forward—contrary to his instincts—in the urgency of making sure heads don’t go flying and nobody gets skewered while he’s in charge, although the fact that he has _no idea whatsoever_ how he would possibly stop them without his hyper-dying-will pills doesn’t sink in until he’s standing face to face with Squalo.

Tsuna flusters a bit, trying to clear his throat while Squalo fixes him with the usual, oppressive glare.

“Um, welco—” he begins, cut off by Squalo thrusting a gift bag into his chest.

“Gift of greeting,” Squalo barks. Then he turns his head and sniffs.

Tsuna takes the gift bag Squalo holds out to him with trepidation, peeking inside and finding a burned up stocking with melted letters across the top that look suspiciously like his name. He blinks up at Squalo, unsure of quite what to say.

“That’s from the Boss,” Squalo says, eyes averted and a finger scratching inside his ear. “He sends his greetings and condolences that he won’t make it here tonight.”

Tsuna chuckles nervously. “That’s okay! How… thoughtful,” he finishes, feeling the most awkward he’s ever felt before when dealing with this unruly bunch, which only sets him up for another shock when he sees someone totally unexpected standing behind Belphegor and next to Lussuria:

Sasagawa Ryohei catches his wide-eyed stare and comes forward to clap a friendly—and bare—arm around Tsuna’s shoulders.

“Merry Christmas Sawada!” Ryohei shouts, knocking the wind out of him.

Squalo turns on his heel and heads towards the closest dessert tray with Belphegor tagging along. “Voooi, where’s the Spumoni?”

Tsuna gapes at Ryohei’s naked biceps and the Santa hat affixed to his head with a jaunty tilt. “W-what happened to your tuxedo?”

“Oh this?” Ryohei glances down at his shoulder and flexes. “Those sleeves were difficult to move in, so I ripped them off. It’s so much better this way—extreme to the max!”

“Hah?” Tsuna cocks his head.

He then does a double-take when Lussuria sidles up next to Ryohei in matching garb (minus the hat).

“Check it out, Sawada!” Ryohei strikes a pose and Lussuria coordinates with him, the two of them rippling in muscles and beaming twin attention-getting grins. Tsuna stares at them in baffled wonderment.

“Seeeeeee~!” Lussuria titters, flicking out his gloved pinky. “Don’t you think it’s sooo~ ♥ much hotter this way ?”

“It’s the best!” Ryohei insists, getting out his cell phone. “Oi, I’m taking a picture!”

He shoves Tsuna closer to Lussuria and holds out his phone, closing one eye and sticking out his tongue in concentration. Tsuna opens and closes his mouth like a trout, no longer sure of anything going on around him.

( _Tsuna trudged toward the Sasagawa residence, the Christmas cake box in his hand weighing about half a ton. He’d always wanted to see Kyoko on Christmas Eve, though he’d never had the guts until this year, knowing it would be his last year in Japan for a while. It wasn’t like he expected anything, really, he just… how could he graduate high school and leave for Italy without doing at least this much to settle his long standing unrequited love? Her family’s home was decorated as beautifully as he’d imagined it, and he probably stood on the stoop for thirty minutes before summoning the guts to ring the doorbell. Her face when she answered the door broke out in the most angelic smile he’d ever seen, stealing all the words from his mouth so that all he could manage was to lift his hand and offer her the cake box along with the nervous thumping of his heart. Kyoko smiled and then did something completely unexpected—she dragged him inside and took off his coat and muffler, forcing him into the den where Haru and about fifteen other girls were all sitting around a kotatsu eating sweets and drinking hot apple cider. Tsuna wasn’t any good with girls, much less a swarm of girls like this all squealing and insisting he eat enough sugary treats to put him into a diabetic coma while they discussed all the boys they liked and wished they were out with instead on this, the number one date night of the year. Tsuna didn’t manage to say even one word the whole time, even to Haru—trapped like a baby quail who stumbled into a nesting box full of fluffy yellow chicks until finally his savior arrived in the form of Ryohei, returning home from hanging out with the single guys on the boxing team. Tsuna had never been happier to see Ryohei’s beat-up face, crying tears of joy now that he wasn’t the only guy there. He jumped up from the kotatsu, clinging to Ryohei’s hooded sweatshirt. Ryohei simply smiled and clapped both hands on Tsuna’s shoulders, thanking him for watching over his sister and her friends so that he could feel at ease about going off again to train. Tsuna slid to the ground, clutching at his pant legs in desperation although Ryohei still left him behind, impervious to his tear-filled face while Kyoko and the girls all got out their fake nails, makeup, and hair pins…_ )

“Get closer together!” Ryohei demands, gesturing wildly.

Lussuria hooks an arm around Tsuna’s chin and then poses with a V-sign.

“Extreme cheese!” Ryohei bellows, snapping the picture.

Belphegor pops up in front of Tsuna, bumping him out of the way with his hip and smiling sweetly. “The Prince wants his picture taken too!”

“My darling Hana doesn’t want a picture of some kid!” Ryohei waves Bel aside.

Bel’s smile inverts to a scowl. Tsuna backs away from all them, slowly, shaking his head.

“You’re sending pictures to your girlfriend?” Bel scoffs, flicking his hair. “The Prince refuses to partake in something so _laaaaame_.”

Tsuna watches Bel head for Squalo and the bar, Lussuria trailing behind. He supposes he should feel overjoyed that Levi and Fran didn’t come; they’re probably keeping Xanxus company back at their headquarters. It’s a small relief.

Gokudera appears at Tsuna’s side. “Keh! What’s that moron doing?!”

He jerks his chin at Ryohei, who is now thoroughly occupied by taking pictures of various things with his cell phone camera and announcing what they are as he sends them on to Kurokawa Hana back in Japan. Tsuna watches the antics with a wistful smile, Ryohei’s shouts of “This is Tsuna’s butler carrying hors d’oeuvres!” and “This guy has a _fantastic_ mustache!”

But as soon as Ryohei says “This is the fire escape!” Gokudera grumbles and storms off to intervene.

“Delete that photo immediately!” Gokudera makes a grab for Ryohei’s phone. “You can’t take any pictures that could compromise security! Duh!”

“What the hell are you talking about you _Octopus_ -head!”

“You are putting the Tenth at risk! Now stop it with those pictures right now!”

Ryohei keeps his phone just out of Gokudera’s reach. “People without girlfriends wouldn’t understand! Idiot!”

“Why you—!”

Tsuna sighs and leaves them to their usual bickering, still holding the gift bag with Xanxus’ dubious (and ill-omened) present inside. Then he remembers the flock of crazy single women who cornered him before and freezes, whipping around to see if they might be closing in again while his guard was temporarily lowered. He’s only half surprised to find the lot of them busy fawning over Dino Cavallone and Romario in his stead, the group divided in half between them. The older women giggle and blush over Dino’s smooth compliments, while the younger ladies all sparkle up at Romario’s dashing smiles.

Tsuna chuckles; that Romario is quite the romantic figure for a middle-aged guy.

He takes the opportunity to get a glass of champagne and fade into the background somewhat. The oldest ladies at the party that aren’t occupying Yamamoto’s patient company are instead entertained by Lambo, a scene so amusing and unexpected that it almost makes Tsuna forgive the candy-cane incident from before. Ryohei and Gokudera finish their quarrel soon enough, and then the men who share Ryohei’s love of boxing eventually gravitate to his side for a loud and boisterous discussion over the current World Champion and his merits (or lack thereof). Tsuna is reminded how lucky he is to be friends with a sportsman like Ryohei, someone who can relate to these hardened Mafiosi in a way that Tsuna can’t. Ryohei is also very thoughtful of his girlfriend, however misguided his gestures may be; Hana is sure lucky to have him.

In this room full of happy couples and hopeful singles, Tsuna drinks his champagne alone, acutely aware of Mukuro’s absence.

—

**[11:22pm]**

The socializing begins to wind down as the midnight hour approaches, since most of the guests attend a church service with their immediate family to round out the night, as per the cultural norm.

With Dino and Yamamoto’s help, most of the guests are reunited with their overcoats and ushered outside to the waiting valets without anything going wrong. Tsuna makes sure there are servants or drivers available to help any inebriated men or ladies safely to their cars and then on to Mass; he also checks on the staff in charge of cleaning the dining hall and finds the room almost back to normal. He breathes a sigh of relief, the mansion’s usual state of chaotic noise tempering into the kind of quiet calm only possible in old, old buildings like the Vongola estate.

Tsuna goes from room to room on the first floor and assures the maids and stewards that they are free to return to their homes and can finish cleaning up on the twenty-sixth as long as any leftover food and wine has been cleared away. He has to smile and repeat himself several times before they bend to his goodwill, which is a bit awkward, but he just doesn’t feel right keeping anyone there so late on a night like Christmas Eve. In the end, the Head Steward insists on overseeing the final procedures and making sure any staff that won’t be staying in the mansion for the duration goes home properly before he takes his leave. Tsuna gladly accepts the assistance, despite what the man put him through earlier in the day.

After resolving these matters, Tsuna heads back to the mansion’s grand entryway where Dino and Yamamoto are standing casually atop the steps leading down to the vestibule and the front doors.

“I can help Tsuna finish up here if you’ve got other things to do,” Dino says, turning to Yamamoto.

Yamamoto smiles, slipping his hands into his pockets. “Thanks but… I’m going to stick around here tonight. I’m expecting company eventually.”

“Oh?” Dino cocks his head at Yamamoto, eyes narrowing in a warning look that makes Tsuna slow his approach and reconsider interrupting. What is this uncomfortable aura?

“I didn’t know you found yourself a girl, Yamamoto. Good for you.”

“Haha,” Yamamoto meets Dino’s eyes, aware of—and yet unaffected by—the tone of their exchange. “It’s not like that.”

Someone coughs from the front doors, Romario and a few Cavallone men filing inside the house.

“Ah, there you are Vongola _Decimo_ ,” Romario smiles and waves past Dino and Yamamoto, who then turn around and smile as well.

Tsuna stumbles forward under their collective gaze, rubbing the back of his neck. “Hello Romario, Dino, Yamamoto.”

Romario makes a sweeping bow. “May we trouble you, _Decimo_ , to have our fearless leader back again? I’m ashamed to say that some of the men waiting outside are in tears from pining for the Boss.”

Dino flushes. “Jeez, Romario!”

Tsuna and Yamamoto chuckle, and then Dino’s men follow suit, the atmosphere back to the usual amiability that comes from Dino’s affable presence.

“It’s the truth, Boss,” Romario grins.

“So embarrassing!” Dino rolls his eyes, though his grin is proud. “Tsuna, I guess I’ll have to ask you to let me see to those buffoons outside. Wouldn’t want them causing a scene.”

“Of course,” Tsuna smiles, shaking Dino’s hand before he descends the steps.

“Merry Christmas!” Dino and his men say in unison, Yamamoto and Tsuna echoing in reply.

Tsuna watches through the slender glass windows on either side of the front doors, Dino and his men carousing their way past the empty parking area towards the main Vongola garage.

Yamamoto claps a hand on Tsuna’s shoulder. “Tired?”

“Yeah,” Tsuna admits, feeling a bit wistful now that the party has almost ended. “I guess almost everything is done now, huh?”

“Seems to be,” Yamamoto agrees. “I think Senpai and Lambo are downstairs in the Arcade. Gokudera should be coming in soon from making sure all the cars leave the property safely. I can wait around for him, so why don’t you go get some fresh air, Tsuna?”

“Hmmm.” Tsuna thinks it over, wanting a moment to himself after such nonstop activity if at all possible. “You sure you don’t mind?”

“‘Course not,” Yamamoto laughs. “You’ve been busy all day with the main stuff, Tsuna. You can leave these small things to us.”

Tsuna squeezes Yamamoto’s forearm. “Thanks. I’ll just go up and get my coat then.”

The second floor is considerably quieter than the first. Tsuna takes his time traversing the building to his personal wing, his office and study exactly the way he left them. He’s sorely tempted to curl up in the nearest armchair and call it a night, but he resists the urge. It’s not quite time for him to settle in, so he retrieves his winter coat from the wardrobe and buttons it overtop his tuxedo before heading to the same back stairway he used before dawn that morning with Gokudera.

Tsuna peeks in on the kitchens and finds everything more or less in order, and then he heads around to the back exit. The door leads to the rear of the house and apaved roadway connected to the back entrance of the Vongola estate, by way of a cluster of storage buildings. Since this area is only used for deliveries and trash pick-up, and the servants have already emptied the night’s trash into the dumpsters, Tsuna is quite alone out in the peaceful cold air. He flips up his coat collar and burrows his hands into his fleece-lined pockets, not a soul nearby in the miles of Italian wilderness stretching away from the back of the estate.

“You’re _late._ ”

“ _Hieee!_ ” Tsuna’s spine goes rigid as a marble column, his stomach dropping to his feet in sheer terror of the voice he recognizes just behind his left shoulder. He spins on his heel and whips his hands up in defense, afraid to look, although it’s impossible not to miss that piercing gaze and expression of disdain.

“H-H-H-Hibari-san!” Tsuna gulps. “S-s-s-so sorry to intrude, I didn’t know you were here so I’ll just be going now—”

“—Stop.” Hibari pokes a gloved finger into Tsuna’s chest, immobilizing him. “Honestly, carrying on like a fool as always, Sawada Tsunayoshi.”

Tsuna presses his lips tight together, frozen in place and in danger of toppling over.

Hibari looks him in the eye for several moments, calculating. Then he sighs. He withdraws his finger and puts his hands back into his pockets. “Don’t just stand there. You’re coming with me.”

“Hah?” Tsuna tilts his head at the vague feeling of déjà vu.

Hibari silences any further protest with a flick of those eyes, and then leads the way down the service road, feet crunching on salt and debris leftover from the last snow. Tsuna follows at what he considers a safe distance, although where Hibari is concerned there really is no such thing.

( _It snowed a record amount the year of his sixteenth Christmas, an event which usually meant building snowmen in the backyard with the kids and then play-fighting over the best spot under the kotatsu and drinking his mother’s cocoa with marshmallows. But Hibari Kyoya had a different idea of how to enjoy a white Christmas, bursting in through the side door of Tsuna’s house and scaring the entire family in his unyielding pursuit of a match with Reborn. Reborn, of course, never did anything anyone else wanted; he easily avoided Hibari’s slashing tonfa and declared—as per usual—that Hibari would have to fight Tsuna first. Reborn then shamelessly kicked Tsuna outside the house, which did get Hibari to go back outside instead of destroying the place, scaring Tsuna’s mother any further or setting off I-pin’s Pinzu time-bomb. At least Reborn shot him first, which is the only reason Tsuna didn’t wind up in the hospital that time. However, the double humiliation Tsuna suffered five minutes later was worse—Hibari losing interest and abandoning their fight once the dying will flames on his forehead fizzled out, and then having to run all the way back home in the snow wearing only his boxers…_ )

Hibari takes them directly to the rear garage where the Ninth’s antique sports cars (and a few motorcycles he talked Tsuna into buying a year or two back) are stored, and opens the caretaker’s door.

“Um…” Tsuna wants to ask several things, not sure where to begin—this is weird, even for Hibari.

Hibari merely glances at him a second time, and then takes him into the back of the garage, closest to the remote controlled exit gate. There, entirely out of place, is a sleek black sedan of the make and model Tsuna has learned to associate with Hibari’s Foundation. Tsuna lifts both brows, surprised that Hibari might be intending to drive him off Vongola property.

Hibari goes right to the passenger door, and Tsuna’s heart begins to pound, wondering where they might go and worried that he should find some way to refuse, hopefully without being bitten to death.

Hibari calmly opens the door, and though the view is partially blocked by Hibari’s body Tsuna can tell that there is someone sitting inside.

“You owe me for this,” Hibari says, voice tight and dangerous like a hidden garrote.

Tsuna doesn’t hear the person’s reply, and can only watch as Hibari shifts out of the way and a petite, hooded figure emerges from within the vehicle.

“ _Chrome_ ,” Tsuna whispers, wide-eyed from shock.

Chrome smiles and steps free of the car as Hibari closes the door, her ink-like hair falling out from the hood in loose waves over her shoulders, her thin frame bundled in an olive green coat that hangs to her ankles. The coat’s fur lining sticks out at her collar and cuffs.

“What… _How_ …” Tsuna sputters.

Chrome inclines her head towards Hibari. “A simple trade of favors. I have a gift to deliver, Boss.”

“Tch,” Hibari mutters, already walking away from them.

Tsuna looks from one of them to the other, completely at a loss. “Um, Hibari-san…?”

Hibari pauses, turning to look at them over his shoulder. “What you do from here is none of my concern.”

“ _Ehhh?!_ ” Tsuna turns beet red.

Hibari disregards him and locks eyes instead with Chrome. “I brought you here as promised. Be ready—Yamamoto Takeshi will drive you back in the morning.”

“Ehhh?” Tsuna repeats, so thoroughly confused. “Why Yamamoto?!”

Hibari smirks, eyes flashing in what Tsuna can only describe as bloodthirst. “Because _I’ll_ still be asleep, of course.”

With that Hibari stalks off on his own, and Tsuna can only watch his disappearing back and shiver. Then he turns to Chrome and blushes for the second time. It doesn’t help that this time she blushes too.

—

**[11:37pm]**

Tsuna, not surprisingly, has no idea what to say once Hibari has left the two of them alone. It’s been years since he’s seen her in person. She appears only somewhat less awkward than he; he thinks perhaps they’re both more accustomed to conversing inside of their dreams. However rare those times have been they still add up to more than occasions like this where they stand face to face.

“Um…” he gestures vaguely in the direction of the way out. “Shall we… Er, where shall we go?”

Chrome shakes her head, very gently. “This is fine.”

“Eh? Aren’t you cold?” Tsuna asks. She always looks so _frail_.

( _His father appeared without any notice as usual, only this time he didn’t come home alone—Tsuna gawked at the two boys his age standing with his dad and just knew this meant the beginning of something unprecedented and horrible. Ken and Chikusa looked just as unhappy to be there, clothing ragged and eyes darting in all directions, mistrustful of any surroundings outside of Kokuyou Land. Tsuna never understood until that exact moment that his father was truly their legal guardian, part of his contract with Mukuro the year before. It might not have been so uncomfortable to have Ken and Chikusa in the house for the holidays had Tsuna’s mom and dad not run off on a romantic trip for two and left him stranded and in charge of the house. Yamamoto had already gone off to Osaka with his dad for some kind of kendo thing. Even Bianchi left him, dragging her little brother home to Italy for an extended stay, which meant that in addition to Ken and Chikusa, Tsuna was left watching over Lambo and I-Pin too. Reborn was also nowhere to be found, a blessing or a curse—Tsuna couldn’t decide which. At any rate, all the cooking and cleaning was left up to Tsuna since Lambo and Ken spent all day fighting over video games and I-Pin and Chikusa sat quietly staring out into the backyard in eerie, yet perhaps companionable silence. He didn’t dare risk interrupting them long enough to find out. On Christmas Eve Tsuna opened the front door to find Chrome on the front porch, shivering in a threadbare overcoat; she wasn’t even wearing a scarf. Tsuna didn’t think twice—he ushered her into the house and found a pair of his mother’s mittens, shoving them onto her icy hands and steering her to the kotatsu before he remembered she was a girl and realized he’d just touched her shoulder and promptly freaked out by running and hiding in his room. Chrome didn’t say anything, just huddled gratefully into the kotatsu and fell asleep. He couldn’t have done anything differently but her presence upset the balance of personalities in the house once again in what would always be the most stressful Christmas ever…_ )

“Boss,” she says, pushing back her hood. “I’ve been saving my strength because there is something that Mukuro-sama wants more than anything.”

Tsuna swallows, afraid to guess what that might be.

“So this is my gift to him.” Chrome steps to Tsuna’s side, one small hand resting on his elbow as she rises on tip-toe. “Merry Christmas—”

She leans in and Tsuna holds still, closing his eyes and hearing the echo of her voice in his mind forming the word “Boss.” But it’s not _her_ lips that touch his cheek, nor her voice that finishes the shared thought:

“— _Tsunayoshi_.”

Tsuna inhales sharply, knowing Mukuro is the one there beside him before he opens his eyes and _sees_. His hands move of their own accord, grabbing Mukuro tight around his back, nose pressed to Mukuro’s collar, and head tucked under Mukuro’s chin. Mukuro chuckles, holding him equally as close.

It doesn’t matter if it’s illusion or a real-illusion; long ago Tsuna gave up worrying over such things. What matters is that Mukuro is here, now. Not in that other place where he can’t go after him.

Tsuna squeezes him tighter and Mukuro makes an _oof_ noise.

“Sorry,” Tsuna burrows his nose deeper into the front of Mukuro’s woolen coat. “Let me stay like this, just a little longer?”

Mukuro smirks. “Alright but… I think going inside for now might be best. We’ll require less clothing that way.”

Tsuna flushes, releasing the hug immediately. Mukuro chuckles and pulls him closer again with one arm, guiding them to the exit. They fall in step, walking in silence along the delivery road until Tsuna hesitates about which way to go—the back door would be more discreet, but he doesn’t like how it implies there’s something wrong about bringing Mukuro inside, like it’s somehow tawdry.

“What on earth are those thoughts swirling around in your head?” Mukuro chides, clucking his tongue.

“Don’t do that,” Tsuna elbows him, warning. “I was only thinking to spare you from Gokudera’s wrath should we run into him going in through the front. That’s all.”

“Oh I see,” Mukuro chuckles. “Then by all means let’s use the front entrance.”

“What?!” Tsuna protests, steered along at Mukuro’s pace as usual.

“I’ve always wanted an official tour,” Mukuro explains, not a hint of a lie in his voice.

In truth he seems rather excited. Tsuna doesn’t have the heart to press the issue, so they walk all the way around the estate and then in through the front doors, the men standing guard shooting curious glances at them but not daring to question Tsuna’s behavior. Tsuna tries to look calm and collected, but somehow being seen like this seems even more tawdry than he imagined. Mukuro laughs quietly and Tsuna elbows him for the second time, shrugging off his arm. He hooks their fingers instead and leads Mukuro up the front staircase and then into the Boss’s suite. Mukuro doesn’t so much as peep in protest. Tsuna closes the door behind him.

The first room in the suite is Tsuna’s office, a massive antique desk on one end and at the other a set of four armchairs around a table the perfect height to hold tea and snacks, or a chessboard, whichever may fit the situation the best. Mukuro looks over every detail with interest, his sharp gaze roaming from floor to ceiling and back again. He slips off his gloves and runs fingertips across the polished surface of the desk, meeting Tsuna’s eyes with a look full of anticipation.

“So this desk will be _my_ desk one day,” he says, lips curving in a dangerous smile. Mukuro moves his hand to brush across the back of the leather chair. “And this is where the Boss sits, yes?”

Tsuna watches him, intrigued, but his emotions are calm. He meets Mukuro’s gaze unwavering.

Mukuro lifts one brow at him, and then comes around the desk to where Tsuna is standing. He gestures with his right hand and then presses the newly-conjured trident near to Tsuna’s throat. All points threatening.

“Aren’t you worried, Tsunayoshi?”

Tsuna slowly shakes his head. He pushes the trident away by the handle. “There’s no need to drain Chrome’s energy like this.”

“She is mine to do with as I please, or did you forget?”

“ _Mukuro._ ” Tsuna looks up at him.

Mukuro rolls his eyes. “Fine, have it your way.” The trident disappears as he shrugs off his coat and folds it across the desk, revealing a well-tailored black suit underneath.

Tsuna puts his coat next to Mukuro’s, feeling slightly overdressed in his tuxedo.

Mukuro tugs on the knot of his necktie, the look in his eyes shifting into a leer. “Might as well get down to the real reason I’m here,” he says, making a show of pulling the tie free from his neck and unbuttoning the collar of his shirt. “I’ll say this upfront—I don’t intend to let you sleep tonight, Tsunayoshi.”

Tsuna flushes crimson, glued to the spot as Mukuro turns and strides towards the set of armchairs across the room. He pulls something rectangular from his pocket and then sits down, crossing one long leg over the other. Then Mukuro does something unexpected—he begins shuffling a deck of cards.

“Old Maid is a two-person game, Tsunayoshi,” Mukuro says, one brow lifted accusingly. “You’re not going to make me play Solitaire, are you?”

Tsuna lets out the breath he didn’t know he was holding, his whole posture deflating.

“Oh jeez,” he says, rubbing both hands through his hair in exasperation. “Why are you always so difficult?” Tsuna trudges over to the chair opposite Mukuro and slips out of his tuxedo coat before sitting down.

Mukuro watches him and laughs, dealing the cards.

“Honestly,” Tsuna whispers under his breath, ordering his cards by number and then choosing one from Mukuro’s hand.

But the quiet smiles they exchange during the game are priceless, indulging in an activity so mundane it makes their respective positions within the Mafia almost farcical. Is it odd that this sort of thing between them feels natural? Is it odd that he doesn’t find it odd?

They play and joke and get unreasonably competitive and have such a good time for so many hours that Tsuna can’t help thinking back to the time………..

But he has _no memory_ of ever spending Christmas with Mukuro, because— _this_ is their first.

Tsuna looks at the man across the table from him, a lump forming in his throat.

Mukuro notices the abrupt change in atmosphere, his brows furrowing in concern. “What is it?”

Tsuna folds the cards in his hand and puts them down on the table. Then he gets up from his seat and moves around the table over to Mukuro’s chair, bracing his hands on the back of it and sliding into Mukuro’s lap. Mukuro meets his eyes, a clear and open gaze as Tsuna folds his arms around the back of Mukuro’s neck.

“Playing cards isn’t enough for you? Tsunayoshi?” Mukuro inclines his head. His hands rest loosely around Tsuna’s back.

“No,” Tsuna says. He shakes his head once. “It’s not.”

“Ohhhh. I see.” Mukuro tightens his hold just a bit. “Then shall I take what I came for?”

Tsuna bends to meet his mouth. “ _Idiot_ ,” he whispers, touching their lips.

Mukuro’s breath, Mukuro’s taste, Mukuro’s kiss—Tsuna arcs closer and pulls tighter, kissing back with everything he has in him and affirming without words what they both know to be true: _I’ve been yours for a long time already, Rokudo Mukuro._

“So…” Mukuro slides his lips over Tsuna’s throat and up to his ear. “Are the Guardian’s rooms located on this floor as well?”

Tsuna shakes his head, fingers entwined in Mukuro’s long hair. “They’re at the other end of the mansion, one floor up.”

Mukuro licks over Tsuna’s jaw. “And are there rooms that belong to me?”

“Yes, there are, but…” Tsuna hesitates, glancing down into Mukuro’s eyes. “Why would you…?”

Mukuro’s brows lift in understanding, causing Tsuna to look away from a slight attack of embarrassment. Mukuro chuckles, pressing his mouth to the side of Tsuna’s neck.

“Why indeed?” Mukuro whispers.

Tsuna closes his eyes and shivers. Then he pushes against Mukuro’s chest and gets to his feet. He offers his hand. Mukuro smirks and takes it in his, rising from the chair. Tsuna leads them through the rest of his suite, a more informal conference area connecting to a library-type office connecting to the closets and changing room and then finally the Master Bedroom. Mukuro twines their fingers as they walk hand in hand to the four poster bed.

The covers are still messed up from that morning, pillows askew and some stray feathers Tsuna’s not sure he can explain.

“Amazing sleeping habits you must have, Tsunayoshi,” Mukuro teases.

“This wasn’t my fault,” Tsuna grumbles, climbing right on top of the pile of blankets and trying to straighten the pillows. He doesn’t realize the significance of his comment until he looks up and sees the dark aura manifesting around Mukuro, all humor gone from his face in an instant. Tsuna recoils.

Mukuro points at the sheets, eyes flashing in accusation. “ _What_ is that?”

Tsuna follows the angle of his finger and swallows. “Um… I think that’s… leopard fur?”

The temperature of the room plummets at least ten degrees below zero, Mukuro’s eyes completely hidden within black shadows.

“Wait, wait, wait!” Tsuna sits up on his knees, flailing his arms in defense.

Mukuro drops his suit coat on the floor, and then begins unbuttoning his shirt cuffs, placing one knee on the bed and leaning his weight forward to create an ominous dip in the mattress. “What else happened today that you’d like to tell me, Sawada Tsunayoshi?”

Tsuna presses his lips together. “I won’t tell you unless you calm down first!”

Mukuro’s eyes narrow. “Then there _is_ something.”

“No!” Tsuna insists, then shakes his head. “I mean, there’s nothing to tell you about that doesn’t happen all the time anyways! Jeez!”

Mukuro crawls onto the bed and reaches for the buttons on Tsuna’s tuxedo vest. “Alright, fine. Start talking. How did Gokudera Hayato’s leopard shed fur all over your sheets?”

“Uri came in and jumped on the bed before anyone could stop him,” Tsuna says, slipping the vest off and tossing it to the side. “Gokudera just came in to tell me there was breakfast, that’s all.”

“That’s all?” Mukuro untucks the white tuxedo shirt and tackles those buttons next, hands moving upward towards Tsuna’s neck.

Tsuna glances away, then decides it’s no use trying to fib. “He kinda hugged me this morning. But it was a platonic hug—he was just over excited, it didn’t mean anything okay?”

“I see.” More wrinkles appear between Mukuro’s brows. “Anything else?”

Tsuna watches Mukuro’s fingers work up the front of his body, a bit distracted. “Um… I was stuck inside an armoire with Lambo for a while.”

Mukuro’s hands pause—and then continue to the last button beneath Tsuna’s collar. “And then?”

Tsuna licks his lips. “Yamamoto tied my bow-tie tonight. I was having some trouble.”

Mukuro yanks Tsuna’s bow-tie undone and plucks off the last of the shirt buttons, glaring. He then opens Tsuna’s shirt and bares his torso from waist to neck. “And then?”

Tsuna obediently shrugs out of the shirt too, casting it off to the side and not caring where it lands. “Ryohei took a picture of me with Lussuria and sent it to his girlfriend.”

Mukuro’s jaw clenches, his hands moving to rest on Tsuna’s hips, thumbs curved into Tsuna’s hipbones. “And what did that bastard Hibari Kyoya do to you?”

“Nothing much,” Tsuna says, inching forward. He takes one of Mukuro’s hands and moves it to the center of his chest. “He only poked me. Right here.”

“ _Unforgivable_ ,” Mukuro hisses, drawing Tsuna into his arms and locking their mouths tight together, and then their bodies, until the fire of jealousy runs its course and the both of them are fully satisfied.

—

**[December 25th // Vongola Headquarters // 9:28am]**

True to his word, Mukuro does not in fact let Tsuna sleep even five minutes. The next morning, when it’s time, Tsuna walks Mukuro back to the rear garage and the black sedan, his heart heavy. Yamamoto is there waiting for them, but he diplomatically turns his back for a few minutes to give them a modicum of privacy.

Mukuro gives Tsuna one last kiss on the mouth, a bittersweet, temporary goodbye.

Then he whispers “Merry Christmas—” and Tsuna feels the ghost of Mukuro’s lips caress the curve of his cheek and exhale the syllables of his name before Chrome sags against his body, no strength left to hold herself up. Tsuna squawks in alarm but catches her before she slips to the ground; Yamamoto rushes over to help, and between the two of them they lay her carefully across the back seat, tucking a spare blanket around her body and buckling a seatbelt across her lap.

“Is she going to be okay?” Tsuna murmurs, concerned.

“I’ll keep a close eye on her, Tsuna. Don’t worry.” Yamamoto smiles, patting Tsuna’s shoulder.

“Thanks,” Tsuna replies.

Yamamoto scratches the back of his neck. “Hey. You know what I was thinking about, waiting out here for you two?”

“Hmm?”

“Isn’t this the first Christmas that we’ve all been in one place together?”

Tsuna blinks, realizing it’s true. His eyes widen as the significance sinks in.

Yamamoto nods. “All your Guardians were gathered under the same roof, and it wasn’t because of an emergency. I bet that means it’s going to be a good year for the Family, don’t you think?”

Tsuna smiles. From this perspective the burden in his heart lifts like a festival kite, his mind filling with thoughts of the bright future ahead of them and all the wonderful Christmases yet to come.

“Yeah.” Tsuna agrees. “That’s exactly what I think.”

Tsuna watches Yamamoto pull out of the garage and drive off down the service road, content with the knowledge that he’ll be back sometime later that day. Then he walks back up to the Vongola mansion where the rest of his Guardians are still deep in slumber. It might be a side effect from sleep deprivation, the previous day’s fasting, or both–but as Tsuna reaches the front doors of the house he thinks he hears an echo of Mukuro’s voice fluttering like moth wings against his consciousness:

_“No matter how far away we roam, or what enemies may gather in our path—somehow we’ll always find our way back home.”_

—

Ω


	2. All is Calm, All is Bright

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Hibari hates the Mist more than anything.” [2010.01.01]

**“All Is Calm, All Is Bright”**

◊

Hibari hates the Mist more than anything, the way that man speaks through that woman and that woman holds a portion of that man’s will and that neither have wishes separate from the other and both are devoid of any sense of shame, constantly playing their intricate and tiresome games. He hates that their favors have value and come in handy. Most of all, he hates that this trade, tonight, enables him to lay hands on something he really wants outside of the official bargain–the very thought of that man or that woman seeing through to his desires is enough to drive him _insane_. He counters the itch under his skin by walking back up the service driveway to Headquarters at a rapid pace, the bitter wind knifing his cheeks and pushing any thoughts of Tsuna and Chrome (engaged in god knows what back there in the garage) firmly out of his mind.

He climbs the rear stairs two at a time, calmed somewhat by the feel of blood pumping steadily in his veins from the exertion. On the third floor he goes straight to his intended destination and touches his hand to the doorknob when it turns under his fingers. The door swings inside so that he’s face to face with Yamamoto bundled up against the cold.

“Oh! I was just going out to go check for you, Hibari.”

Yamamoto’s eyes crinkle shut in a smile and Hibari thinks _yes_ –this kind of frankness is exactly what he prefers, and exactly what he has been craving these last, interminable weeks. Hibari steps forward and Yamamoto steps back and invites him into the suite. By the time the door swings closed Hibari has removed his gloves and made it clear to Yamamoto with a sharp look that there is no time to lose.

Yamamoto shrugs out of his wool coat and cocks his head, shooting Hibari a look in reply: _So what should we do first?_

As long as they’re naked and tangled (on the sheets on the leather sofa on the carpeting on the desk on the bathroom tile on the window sill with unyielding, frozen glass jarring his shoulder blades and velvet drapes clutched tight in each hand) Hibari doesn’t care. What matters is that Yamamoto doesn’t hide anything–not from him. Not _ever_.

The hue of Yamamoto’s ardor swept over his skin, the flex of his arms and shoulders with every thrust, the tender intensity of his longing transmitted with every kiss–all of him so effortlessly candid. Hibari takes Yamamoto into his mouth and he watches Yamamoto’s brows wrinkle and his eyelids flutter closed, lips whispering encouragement until that first graze of his teeth and then Yamamoto’s hand yanks Hibari up by the hair, eyes now open and steely and just as unafraid to show his displeasure as any of the rest. Hibari snarls and pins Yamamoto’s wrists to the mattress and finishes what he started, never tiring of Yamamoto’s vast array of reactions or the certainty that every one of them is _real_. And all for him. _Always._

Only in times like these can Hibari return Yamamoto’s honesty with an equal truth, burrowing next to him under the blankets where Yamamoto can glimpse the rare sight of his face going slack in slumber, or listen on in witness to his snores. There is vulnerability in such trust, and trust in such vulnerability.

In this world of deception, at least this one thing is pure.

In the morning, Hibari wakes enough to feel Yamamoto’s mouth brush his temple, and then he hears the main door to the suite close, the lock clicking into place. Hibari yawns and stretches, arching his sore back. Then he rolls over into Yamamoto’s spot to keep it warm for when he gets back, content to spend the rest of Christmas day right here.

—

Ω

**Author's Note:**

> Written for epicsoup in the khr_exchange09 community on LJ. ♥


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